It's Not Obvious To Me
by The Necessity of Darkness
Summary: Angelo sees the way Sherlock and John look at each other. Two dense men being so stubborn and oblivious that they can't act on their own desires. That is his breaking point, and he intends to give them a little helpful advice. (Johnlock)


Whenever Angelo sees a girl on John Watson's arm, which is practically always, he feels an almost indescribable urge to let them out to find another establishment to bother. Now, that's not to say he doesn't like John, because he really does, but he tires of how utterly obtuse he can be.

Dr. Watson brings in too many woman, and the detective has only ever arrived to the restaurant in a solo capacity, except for a few rare occasions that went awry, and when it's just him and the doctor. Angelo can almost always be found disgruntled in the corner when only one or the other pops in. And, correct him if he's wrong, he thinks John is looking in all the wrong places while the detective isn't looking at all.

So, tonight, when he sees Watson with a woman's hand in his right and a glass of wine in his left, he strides over there, determined to give John, this younger and foolish man, some helpful advice.

"Can I speak with you in private, doctor?" he whispers, looking at the way the soldier's date makes a suspicious face. The doctor looks incredulous for a moment, but then considers and, in the end, humors the restaurant owner.

"Er, yeah," he agrees, leaving his date to follow Angelo into a private niche of the building. "Is something wrong?" he queries, and Angelo feels the need to smack him across the head. His date, too.

"I think you should leave," he says, and he doesn't need to gesture to the woman for John to know he means both of them. "There's been an illness going around the staff recently, something nasty."

John frowns at him, glancing to the waiters filtering around the place. It's obvious he knows it's a lie, but it's obvious Angelo is displeased with him as well, so he doesn't mention it. For now.

The doctor swivels to peer at his date, raking a hand through his hair. "Wouldn't want either of you to get sick," the restaurateur continues coldly, this time motioning to the woman.

John lets out a confused huff. "What's this really about, Angelo? Why are you so against Nina?" he questions, rubbing at the back of his head, and his genuine confusion is just as amusing as it is irritating.

"I wouldn't want Sherlock to-"

"Sherlock?" he repeats, sounding incredulous. "What does Sherlock have to do with-?" Suddenly, John looks decidedly like he would rather be anywhere else, doing anything other than having this conversation. "Sherlock and I are _not_ a couple," he enunciates carefully.

The restaurateur crosses his arms, and simply counters,"Yes, you are." And when John falls into a disbelieving silence, and it's been quiet for quite a bit, he construes the lack of response as resignation.

Finally, John makes a noise between defeated and ingratiating. "I think we ought to leave, then," he admits, awaiting some form of permission to return to the poor, unsuspecting woman. Angelo simply nods.

The soldier bids him goodbye with a small wave and returns to the table. When, instead of immediately sitting down, he slings his jacket on, the woman's mouth forms a question. Gently, he leans in and pulls at her hand, saying something, convincing her, until she rises.

Angelo watches him push her towards the door, tossing one final goodbye behind his shoulder before departing. The restaurant owner doesn't blame the girl, not at all, but he believes it's better this way. She's a pretty woman, and John is a pleasant man, but he knows of a much better match for the army doctor.

* * *

You could see why Angelo would be annoyed when, instead of finding the good doctor and the consulting detective at their customary table, he finds John with another woman clinging to his arm at the entrance.

Albeit he wasn't particularly direct in his suggestion of John dating Sherlock, he was, at the time, sure he had gotten his point across. _Apparently not_ , he thinks as he approaches the couple. He distinctly ignores the goo-goo eyes the woman sends the doctor's way.

"Dr. Watson," he greets, giving the woman a side-long glance. The soldier has an obvious knack for picking up beauties, but the restaurateur's not sure how high their morals or personality could possibly be. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

It seems John is trying to dismiss the girl's flirting as well. "Hello, Angelo," he responds politely, subtly removing the woman's hands from his wrists. "We'd like the table by the window, please?" When he gestures to the table him and Sherlock usually sit at, Angelo frowns.

"You can't have that table," he says almost too harshly, relishing the fact that he startles the woman. Mouth in a deep frown, John gives him a pleading look.

"Why not?" the doctor queries, forgetting momentarily his date, who goes back to straight up oogling. "No one's even there," he continues, gesticulating in its general direction. Angelo can't help but find it disconcerting that the doctor would share the table specially reserved for him and Sherlock with his ' _random date that changes every week_ '.

"A customer has already reserved it," he lies icily,"so you and your date will either have to leave or choose a different table." He finishes with a defiant cross of his arms, jaw clenching at the girl's oblivious and continuous looks.

John sighs longwindedly, pinching the bridge of his nose before laying Angelo with a stern but compliant expression. "Fine," he concedes, pulling the woman's arm off and leading her away. "Good evening, Angelo." And with that, he and his date walk out of the door.

The restaurant owner watches them leave with a particularly significant type of annoyance, wondering how such a nice bloke can completely avoid the obvious, possibly out of pure stubbornness. He huffs a breath as a waiter comes to him with a customer's complaint, and sighs.

He hopes his point was received this time, but, if not, next time he'll make the whole establishment know it.

* * *

Now, imagine the restaurant owner's relief when he sees Sherlock opening the door the next day. Imagine how his heart sinks when John doesn't trail in behind him.

"What can I do for you, Sherlock?" Despite John's absence, he shouldn't dampen Sherlock's mood. The detective smiles at him, but something seems to be troubling those glassy, pretty eyes of his.

"I just need the table by the window and an ear to listen," he shrugs noncommittally, scanning the restaurant before looking back down at Angelo. The restaurateur wonders minutely if the boffin and soldier had an argument of some sort, or possibly even that John had asked him on a date, and he refused.

"Sure," he grins,"just take a seat and I'll be right over." Sherlock forms a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it looks more genuine than the last, so Angelo supposes he can let it slide until him and Sherlock start talking. The boffin simply nods solemnly, and once he turns away, Angelo smiles sadly after him.

"Tim," he calls, seeing the waiter coming from a table nearby. The boy nods at him as he says,"Hold down the fort for me, would you?" He doesn't wave at Sherlock, or indicate what he needs to do, but Tim nods in understanding anyway as he passes to reach another table.

Angelo treads over and plops into the booth opposite Sherlock, and the detective animatedly regales him with the details of his current case. If the restaurant owner is being honest, he isn't really listening to the whole thing, but he nods at every available moment, and seeing the boffin happy is a relief.

"If you don't mind my asking," Angelo starts, and Sherlock already seems wary of the continuation of the sentence,"where is Dr. Watson?" You can imagine how shitty the restaurateur feels when Sherlock actually _winces_.

"John. I've told you to call him John before, Angelo," he chides, folding his hands against the table. He notices Sherlock's fingers worrying the loose pieces of wood. "But, unfortunately, John had a date tonight," _so it wasn't an argument, but a date_ ,"and so he left me to my own devices."

The way Sherlock says it makes it sound like, usually, that would be alright, but not tonight, and Angelo is left with an odd sort of feeling between awkward and guilty for bringing it up. He is also left feeling very angered by Dr. Watson constantly brushing off his advice.

"Why are you two so pig-headed?" Taking a sip of his wine, he sees confusion settle on Sherlock's face for but a moment. "Can't you both see you'd be perfect together?" Angelo realizes only too late that what he meant to be a helpful revealation has just made the world's only consulting detective very uncomfortable.

His jaw sets with some form of denial as he argues,"You must have me confused, Angelo. You seem to believe John and I share a mutual sexual attraction." He looks even more uncomfortable as he continues, with a humorless chuckle,"This is why _I_ am the detective, and _you_ are not."

You could see why Angelo would be angry, given Sherlock just insulted him, however subtly, but the restaurateur is more annoyed by both the boffin and doctor's denial. They simply can't meet each other halfway by themselves, and no one has pushed them to that point yet, so he supposes he must be the one.

"For being the world's most observant man, you really don't notice his affection, do you?" the man questions, leaning back into the booth. Sherlock seems to bypass the rhetorical quality of the question and tries to answer anyway.

"Sociopaths tend not to be good in the romantic area," he confirms, mouth a thin, tight line as he gulps some wine from his glass. Either it's too pungent, or he's disgusted by something else, but he pulls a face as he pivots to face the window.

"You are not a sociopath; socially enept, I would agree with. Romantically uninterested; possibly." Swirling his wine glass, he finishes confidently,"Definitely _not_ a sociopath." Sherlock glowers at him over his drink.

"No one's tiny mind can comphrend anything," the detective mutters darkly, and Angelo is certain he's never seen the young man this hostile. Cranky, sure; annoyed, definitely; never this, though.

"I may not see everything you do," he starts, eyebrows narrowed,"but I have intuition, Sherlock, and so does everyone else that thinks you're a couple." That actually strikes Sherlock silent, and with his point taken, he leaves no room for argument as he walks away.

He only converses with Tim for a moment, but when he turns back to the window, the reserved table is empty, and the detective's familiar curls and purple shirt are gone. The restaurateur would like to think he's knocked some sense into the detective, but one can never be quite sure with Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

The next day, one could picture the immense joy on Angelo's face when Sherlock leads John through the door with the doctor's hand held in his own. Granted, the soldier looks confused while the detective looks nervous, but that's to be expected on a first date, right?

"Sherlock, John! What can I do for you?" he beams, hurrying over to the pair with a quick excuse to Tim of why exactly he can't check on table 16. He can see just how defined John's confusion is as he gets closer.

Before the boffin can get anything out, the doctor gives him a look. "Do _you_ know what Sherlock's on about? He wouldn't tell me why we're here, and I have a lingering suspicion it has something to do with you." He eyes the restaurateur, and Angelo thinks back to the private conversation they shared in the building's corner not too long ago.

Just as he's about to respond, Sherlock gives him one of those ' _you're-an-idiot-if-you-think-you-can-defy-me_ ' looks, silently urging him not to disclose anything that would jeopardize _God only knows_ what this is, because it's been made obvious that it certainly isn't a date. So, since he's trying to be a good matchmaker, he simply asks,"How would I have anything to do with it?"

The doctor almost looks like he has the audacity to argue back, but one little side glance from Sherlock puts him in his place. Sighing, John just shakes his head incredulously, and without saying anything more to Angelo, the detective drags John off to their signature table.

From a distance, looking on at Sherlock's awkward mannerisms and equally awkward expression, Angelo would still be positive it was a date if John hadn't said anything. Wanting a closer look, he curiously bounds over.

Within earshot now, he just barely catches the glance the boffin throws his way. Suddenly, before the restaurateur can ask anything, Sherlock's hand snakes out and grips the doctor's.

"Sherlock?" John's voice is slightly husky, thick, almost warning as he looks down at their linked hands, then back up at the detective. Sherlock flashes a nervous smile.

The boffin, once again, looks Angelo's way. Realization dawning, he has a hunch that, just maybe, Sherlock's purposefully waited for him to come over.

"It has been brought to my attention that you and I are sexually attracted to one another," he informs, and Angelo is perplexed as to how Sherlock can say something like this just like he would say the sky is blue. Like it's a complete, utter, irrefutable fact.

John doesn't seem to think this attraction is so mutual, wrenching his hand away like it's been burned, and the restaurateur wants to slap him again. How can one man be so emotionally stunted that he doesn't even understand his own _feelings_?

"What's going on, Sherlock? Is this an acting lesson, or some experiment or something?" Angelo finds himself internally facepalming and externally grimacing at the soldier's oblivious nature.

Sherlock almost looks deflated as he examines John's hands. He leans back as he replies,"I'm serious, John, but you seem to think that I have miscalculated."

"Sherlock," John starts lowly, voice obviously meant to be scolding. "What are you doing?" The question is almost a snarl, and Angelo is certain that Sherlock doesn't deserve this.

"Telling the truth," the restaurant owner chimes in, folding his arms at the doctor's irritated expression. "There would be no need for this, if only you two weren't so incredibly thick."

John immediately turns on the restaurateur. "So this _does_ have to do with you? To do with that conversation we had?"

"There was a conversation? _What_ conversation?" Sherlock scowls, disbelief and disappointment wrapped up in frustration. Angelo is sure not knowing something is going to drive the detective mad for a while. "Why didn't I _see_ it?!"

"Listen, both of you!" Everyone has a breaking point, and this happens to be Angelo's. Two dense men being so stubborn and oblivious that they can't act on their own desires. _That_ is his breaking point.

Both the doctor and detective's head snap towards him, surprised at the sharp tone of his voice. Surprisingly, only a few heads turn to the window-side table, gingerly turning back to their meals after taking a quick, concerned peek.

" _You_ ," he says calmly, gesturing to John. "We both know you like to date women," Sherlock winces,"but maybe Sherlock is the exception? Maybe you like both genders, men and women? I don't know, and I don't happen to care." The restaurant owner points an accusing finger, the doctor remaining still. "It doesn't matter because I can tell that you _love_ him."

The soldier practically blanches at the L-word, but Angelo's on a furious streak, so he swivels to wag his finger at Sherlock too. "And you, Mr. High-functioning-sociopath, are either oblivious," the detective pulls a face at the insult,"or evasive, and you're too observant for oblivious. You avoid the subject, both of you do, and look at where it's led."

Exhaling a calming breath, Angelo folds his hands and closes his eyes. This whole ' _getting Sherlock and John to realize their love for each other_ ' thing has been more frustrating then almost any task he's ever embarked on. He slowly opens his eyes to find John staring at him and Sherlock staring at John. It's quiet; _too_ quiet.

"I'll just be going," the doctor mutters, pulling his jacket from the booth and crawling out. He doesn't turn back as he retreats to the door with an utterance of,"Afternoon", and proceeds to swiftly exit the restaurant, leaving silence in his wake.

"Don't worry," Angelo says absently. "He'll come around." Glancing at the boffin's face, the restaurateur isn't sure the detective actually believes him. "You two are stubborn as mules," he mutters dryly. Realizing there is nothing more he can do but his job, he goes to find Tim and apologize for the catastrophe, and when he turns back around, Sherlock is gone.

* * *

After his past few encounters with the doctor and detective, Angelo isn't sure whether to be utterly mortified or positively ecstatic when he sees them walk in three days later. He may not have the deductive prowess of Sherlock Holmes, but it's evident that the boffin's cut his hair and bought a new suit that's _God only knows_ how expensive.

He would say it's definitely a date, but with what happened recently, he isn't sure Watson and Holmes would ever go on a date after that fiasco. Subtly, he peers over at the pair, Tim acting in his stead tonight as he seats them at their usual table.

His spying amounts to seeing a bright smile grace the pleasant doctor's face. He also sees his and Sherlock's linked hands, not at all hidden from the public eye. Made obvious, also, is the detective's contentedness as he stares across the table at his counterpart.

Now, Angelo has never claimed to know the inner workings of Sherlock Holmes' mind, but he just might have the audacity to gloat to Tim later that he knew, for _once_ , what Sherlock needed more than the detective knew himself. It's ridiculously obvious that they're both smitten with each other, and you don't have to be a detective to figure it out(except when you're Sherlock Holmes. Then, you're a detective and _still_ can't figure it out). _They must have talked it over_ , Angelo muses.

The restaurateur smiles as Sherlock brushes his lips over John's nose, soft and hesitant, but then frowns as he leans away, seeing the soldier's shocked look. Before he can do anything, presumably apologize, John practically snogs him _senseless_. When he finally pulls away, Sherlock looks breathless and dazed.

The restaurateur laughs wholeheartedly, and the last thing he sees as he leaves to wait on his table is the broad, genuine grin that graces the detective's lips. He hums cheerily. He supposes he _is_ a good matchmaker after all.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed. I can wholeheartedly say that this has been the most enjoyable piece I've written in a while. Matchmaker Angelo for the win! I could be persuaded to make another chapter detailing all that happened in between John and Sherlock's visits to Angelo's.**


End file.
